The True Story
by DarthTofu
Summary: What lies beyond life? Find out in: The True Story! The True Story is an unregistered trademark of Saith's
1. Default Chapter

This story is true. It is so incredibly true, that by the laws mentioned in the Great Galactic Book of Laws and Plumbing, paragraph eight, under the section that should be about getting a computer to work with piping, it reads as such: "If anyone should write that a story is incredibly true, we ban it. We now return to our regularly scheduled book. Place pipe A in slot C as seen in picture 3,982,1254,892,100 on page 927 x 8,402, making sure to screw it so that it bashes through the adjacent wall, is severely damaged, and must be repaired at a price of 8,000,000,000,000,000,000 dollars… Or else re-bought for a price of three and one-half cents." And so forth. Thus, this story has been banned, meaning that it is imperative that you break the law and read it, thus risking being eaten alive by vampire penguins. That aside, we can now begin with the story, which, once again, is entirely true.

"What do you mean you don't like it?" Arthur cried in dismay. "I made it with tea leaves! _British _tea leaves! It's wonderful!"

"Tastes a tad bitter to me," Ford stated for the third time. "I don't like it."

"What do you mean you don't like it?" Arthur cried in dismay. "I made it with tea leaves! _British _tea leaves! It's wonderful!"

"Tastes a tad bitter to me," Ford stated for the fourth time. "I don't like it."

"What do you mea-" Arthur started again, only to be interrupted by the sighing of a door accompanying Zaphod Beeblrox, former head honcho of the universe inside.

"Hello," Zaphod's left head said pleasantly, his right head's pupils dilating as they spied the tea.

"Is that a drink?" the right head asked.

"Of course it's a drink," Arthur sad angrily. "It's tea."

"Tea," Zaphod's left head repeated.

"Tea," Zaphod's right head repeated"

"Screw it, I'm chuggin' it," they said in unison, diving upon the tea and drinking it in loud, obnoxious gulps for the next three minutes.

"Do you like it?" Arthur asked in something that sounded close to dismay. "I made it with tea leaves._ British _tea leaves. They're wonderful."

"Tastes a tad bitter to- oh, wait," Ford said, noticing that he wasn't several paragraphs back anymore for the first time.

"It's terrible," Zaphod's left head stated matter-of-factly.

"It is not. It's quite good," the other head said, choosing to head-butt the other other head. The other other head in question head-butted back the other head not in question for being disagreeable which lead to a long head butting duel until both heads struck each other in the exactly correct portions of their heads to knock out their recent memories from several minutes back.

"It's terrible," Zaphod's left head stated matter-of-factly.

"It is not. It's quite good," The other head said, attempting to head-butt the other head, but failing due to the meat tenderizer that Arthur chose to insert between Zaphod's heads.

"Ow," said Zaphod's heads. "Where did you get a meat tenderizer?"

"From my bedside table, of course," Arthur said, indicating a bedside table with hundreds of meat tenderizers and alarm clocks on it.

"I see," Zaphod said, choosing to abandon the tiring dialect of saying "Zaphod's left head said" and "Zaphod's right head said".

"That makes a great deal of sense."

"Indeed it does," Ford agreed, speaking for the first time in several paragraphs. Realizing that it had been the first time he had spoken in several paragraphs, he became woozy and grabbed a nearby kitten to regurgitate into its mouth.

The kitten, quite offended by the lack of a tongue involved, swallowed and walked away in the most dignified manor it could before Ford, deciding it was miserable, put it out of its alleged misery and whacked it with one of Arthur's many meat tenderizers.

"I'm thirsty," said Ford. "I need a good stiff drink."

"Pan Galactic gargle blaster?" Zaphod asked eagerly, referring to drink that was similar to having one's brain smashed through a number of ways which I would mention were it not for the fact that Disney might sue me, a Necromancer might bring Douglas Adams back from the grave to sue me, and the simple fact that I can't remember very many of the ways your brain is destroyed.

"No," Ford said. "I need something stiffer. Hmm, what to drink… I know! I'm going to have a-" At that moment the plot decided to expand, but the author decided he was done, so a large brown, pink, purple, gold, mauve, and fuchsia colored (Colored being spelled the British way) brick fell out of the sky and conked Ford on the head, causing him to reach up and rub his head.

"Ow," Ford said, reaching up and rubbing his head. This prompted another brick of similar colors to fall out of the sky and strike him, followed by a satellite, and an almond flavored tea towel, which knocked him senseless.

"That's odd," said Zaphod's left head seconds before a meat tenderizer hit it.

"It hasn't rained in months around here," the right head finished as a computer joystick impacted his head at a high velocity.

"I'm the only one left not unconscious!" Arthur cried in joy as a teapot cracked open directly in front of him. From inside spewed hamsters which promptly swarmed all over Arthur before exploding, and blowing him into tiny pieces of filth, which disappeared over time.

"I win!" Pete yelled triumphantly as he threw an egg full of vampire penguins down to eat what was left of everyone.

Once again, it must be stressed that everything aforementioned in this story has been absolutely, positively, without a doubt true. We must also inform you that the highest authorities have discovered that you have read this, and that Vampire Penguins (now spelled with capital letters to signify importance) will be at your door within the next few weeks to kill you and sell Girl Scout cookies to those mourning you.

AN: Hello, fanfiction people who read this. I'm amazed that you lasted that long through such a blatantly terrible story. Honestly, it was horrible. Don't you people have any class whatsoever as to know a terrible story when you see one? Truly you people who were foolish enough to read this whole thing sicken me! Oh, and for the thousands of you out there who beg for more of this story, that was kind of it, since everyone's dead.

Oh, right, disclaimers. Vampire penguins are all mine, all hitchhiker characters are now apparently Disney's, Almond flavored tea towels are the author of random fragments of a diseased mind, and exploding hamsters are Mason Trulcuk's, whom not one of you is likely to know because he doesn't log on here. Arvuia, Ofwedershin, good riddance, and good (Insert one) morning, evening, afternoon, or night.


	2. The chapter that never occured

"Ford?" Arthur asked tentatively.

"Yes? Ford replied testily.

"I'm alive," Arthur whined tenaciously.

"What the hell does tenaciously mean?" Zaphod asked blatantly. "And why the hell is this stupid author writing so that the characters all have adverbs that start with 't's?"

"Stupid?" The all-powerful author replied in a deep, all powerful and omnipotent type voice. "Thou shall be smote!"

With that a large and powerful bolt of lightning fell down and struck Zaphod firmly in the chest, instantly killing him.

"Hah! I'm still alive!" shouted Zaphod.

"Why the hell are you still alive?" the author shouted, forgetting to speak in an old English style.

"Because I didn't die in the _last _piece of fanfiction you wrote. I lived! HAH! So there."

"Alright, fine," the author proceeded, still no talking in old English. "You can't die, but I can make you small, insignificant and lemon flavored."

"I'm allergic to lemons," a random demon mentioned, walking around the corner that no one had noticed before due to a lack of the author's providing a description of the location, what with him being preoccupied with Zaphod.

"So don't eat him," the author replied, shrinking Zaphod to a small and insignificant size and making him lemon flavored.

Now then, a description is needed of the scenery: Ford, Arthur, the newly miniaturized Zaphod, and the random daemon were all standing in a little stone place by a corner.

Somewhere along the way, someone screamed.

"Hey!" Arthur exclaimed indignantly, "I'm supposed to be the one screaming around here!"

"Well clearly you aren't, so get over it," the lemon-intolerant demon said.

"Where exactly are we?" Ford asked the demon.

"Oh, are you talking to me?" asked the demon.

"Yes I'm talking to you," Ford said to the demon. "What other demons could I possibly be talking to? It quite clearly stated: 'Ford asked the demon' in the text portion of this which characters generally can't read."

"Yeah, well the author did a terrible job of describing the scenery, so there might have been another demon that we didn't know about that this terrible author failed to-"

"Het hem," said the author, making a very deep noise out of the false cough and indicating the now centimeter tall Zaphod.

"Hold on," said Zaphod, "Why am I a centimeter tall? This is a fanfic from a guy in the U.S. The U.S. is notoriously stupid for not using the metric system. I mean, honestly, the U.S. is so dumb that-"

While still in mid-sentence, Zaphod's body disappeared to a later point in the story when he would be needed.

"Anybody else have something to say about me? Good. Now go about the frickin' story without me having to intervene."

"Hold on," said Ford, "Why in the name of Zark _wouldn't _he intervene? I mean, after all, he _is _writing the story."

"Don't expose the plot holes!" cried the author.

"Right then. So, Mr. Demon, where exactly _are _we? I'm going to guess that we're in hell."

"You'd be wrong," the demon said, indicating around the corner. "This is heaven."

"Why in on Earth did you just point around the corner?" Arthur asked

"Because I felt like it. Now what's Earth?"

"It's a big planet."

"I see," said the demon. "Are we talking, like, Alpha Centaui big Zeta major big, here?"

"I'm talking planet big."

"Oh. Betelgeuse," said the demon.

"Why did you say Betelgeuse?" asked Arthur.

"I panicked," the demon replied calmly.

"So are you a demon or an angel?" Ford asked.

"Neither, actually," he replied. "Would you believe, I'm actually god?"

"No, I wouldn't," said Ford.

"No, I wouldn't either," said Arthur.

"Oh, bother, no one ever does," the demon replied testily. "Alright, fine, I'm a social security worker in charge of the kitten taxes."

"Kitten taxes?" Arthur asked, finding himself to his great surprise to be only mildly surprised by this.

"Yes," replied the demon/social security worker in charge of kitten taxes. "It's the tax you must pay to regurgitate into a kitten's mouth and whack it with a meat tenderizer."

"I whomped mine with a meat tenderizer. Does that count?" Ford asked, slightly tentatively.

"You did not. It said quite clearly in chapter one that you whacked it with a meat tenderizer. Besides, whomped isn't even a word!"

"Alright, fine, what do I owe you?"

"One kitten whose mouth has been regurgitated into that has been whacked with a meat tenderizer."

"Happy to comply," Ford said, producing the kitten from a pocket in the volumous overcoat that he was suddenly wearing, despite whatever clothes the reader had decided to put him in in the first place.

"So why is everyone here?" Arthur asked the demon/social security worker.

"Call me Bob," Bob said. "It decreases the amount of typing the author has to do."

"Alright then Bob, why is everyone here?"

"We are all here because-"

Suddenly a brick (Which _I _by the way, own from now on!) of multiple colors flew by a walloped Bob in the head.

"Now we'll never figure out why we're here!" cried Arthur.

"I know why we're here, but I'm never going to tell any of you," Zaphod said as he suddenly stepped out of a space rift from where the author had moved him to as previously mentioned. "Did I mention that I'm completely back to normal now, too?" he added.

AN: Thank you all of those out there who reviewed, thank you in particular those who told me I could bring people back to life, and I must now give due credit to someone else for something mentioned in the first chapter: meat tenderizers belong to someone with the nondeplume (French for "pen name" if you spell it correctly) of Ran Keether. No vampire Penguins in here, though. I'm saddened by myself. Or as Microsoft word would correct me in the grammar check I just ran "Myself sadden me."

So, now for the part where I say stuff to individual people: Fantasy Loving Freak: Thank you for the previous mentions to me in your story, though I'm suing for control of all bricks in all fanfiction stories, as well as all double bladed frying pans and vampire penguins armed with meat tenderizers (I don't care about Ran, he sticks to his own obsessive Star Wars sites.)

Everyone else who wrote stuff: I forgot all of your names, but thanks for being stupid enough to read my fic and not mentioning that British people spell "colored" with a "U" as my sister did.


	3. of puke and imagination

"So this is really heaven and not hell?" Arthur asked Ford as they sat consulting the guide in their laps that was displaying information on heaven and hell that Arthur had never seen.

"Well of course it is," Ford said, exasperated. "Do you have any idea how many species there are other than you out there? It's just you, you, you, you, you with all of you humans. Some species _enjoy _fire and brimstone and all that lot. As a matter of fact, must of them do. That's why hell is in the clouds and heaven is in this burning cavern."

"Hold on just a second, there," Arthur said, a smile starting to come to his face. "Are you telling me that I can be a complete and total bastard and still get to go to my version of heaven which is really hell?"

"Yes, I never thought of that, I suppose," Ford said, sighing wistfully. "You monkey-men have it so good…"

"Ow," said Bob, getting up and rubbing his head.

"Bob!" cried Arthur, "You're getting up and rubbing your head! Yes!"

Arthur turned back to Ford who sighed once again and surrendered the appropriate amount of money. Someone else screamed somewhere else.

"For the love of Zark, who is stealing my job?" Arthur asked, sounding more than a little ticked off.

"Probably some stupid Earth man that prayed all his life and behaved all the time. Loser," Zaphod said, shaking his heads as he came around the same corner that Bob had come from that he had failed to notice, owing in large part to the fact that he was small and lemon flavored at the time, and that Bob had kept his distance in an effort not be contaminated with lemon flavoring.

"Gah!" yelled Bob, running as far away from Zaphod as he could in an effort to escape being contaminated with lemon flavoring.

"First of all 'gah' isn't a word, and second of all, I'm not lemon flavored anymore."

"You _were _once lemon flavored, though! You're contaminated!"

"I am not!"

"You are, too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Look," said Bob, "This is pointless and is getting us nowhere. Let's settle this like civilized gentlemen."

"Yes," said Zaphod, nodding his heads agreeably, "Let's. I'll go with Whyren's Reserve, what'll you have?"

"Excuse me?" Bob asked sounding confused.

"You said you wanted to settle this like gentlemen. What's more civilized than a drinking contest?"

"Zaphod?"

"_What, _monkey-man?" Zaphod asked Arthur, sounding more than a little ticked off.

"Hey, I'm the 'more than a little ticked off' one, here! Anyways, Zaphod, we have no alcohol. How, exactly, do you propose we hold a drinking contest?"

"Arthur!" Zaphod exclaimed, looking shocked, "have you lost the power of imagination?"

"Sorry, what in the name of Zark did you just say?"

"We can use our imagination for this drinking contest. It's that simple. So I'll just imagine that I'm drinking Whyren's Reserve, and you can imagine that you're drinking pan galactic gargle blasters. Whoever imagines that they pass out first loses."

"Hold on- I thought pan galactic gargle blasters were much higher in alcohol than-"

"Shut _up_, monkey-boy," Zaphod said, leaning one of his heads in very close to Arthur's face. "Just shut up. I'm going to win. So there."

"You know, I can hear everything you're saying, right?" Bob said, having suddenly materialized right next to Zaphod.

"And, by the way, I don't accept. We need to be civilized. Such as seeing who can kill the cutest and most innocent young child down here. Shall we say, from age five on down?"

"You disgust me!" cried Arthur.

"Oh, no!" Ford cried, feeling woozy, "I haven't said anything in several paragraphs! I'm going to-"

"Imagine a bucket! Imagine a bucket!" Zaphod cried desperately.

Ford heaved into his imaginary bucket, getting goop from his stomach all over it until it burst the bucket asunder, disintegrating into tiny little pieces that would mutate into vampire penguins soon, but not too soon.

"You didn't imagine a bucket!" Zaphod yelled.

"Yes I did," Ford said indignantly. "It just burst asunder, disintegrating into tiny little pieces.

"Oh, lovely," Bob said in disgust. "Now I have to go get Fred."

"Who's Fred?" Arthur asked curiously. "Fred is the man in charge of taxing people for throwing up in imaginary buckets that don't work. I'll be right back. Oh, and have a vampire penguin ready. He charges one vampire penguin by way of tax.

"Well that's odd. Have you noticed that the consequences for all of your actions here are that you have to give them a load of rubbish?" Arthur asked.

Suddenly, it had become soon, but not too soon.

"Uh-oh," said Ford.

The hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy has this to say about imagination: DO not imagine things. It can be extremely dangerous, and might just cost you your life depending on where you come from. Most species are capable of imagining items and causing them to appear in at least some form. Species in the nearby vicinity of Alpha Centauri are known to have no talent for this, but every other species is capable.

The guide then goes on to give descriptions of what the outcome will be if certain events are to happen. For instance, it states that if Betelguisian is to throw up into an imaginary bucket in heaven, near a corner with a demon, two-headed and three armed man who was once president of the galaxy, and carbon based life form from a planet that had been destroyed who's name included five vowels, none of them being "O", then the result will be several vampire penguins sprouting from it. This is not unusual if a Betelguisian is to imagine a vessel to contain bile and fail to do so. However, under these circumstances-. The guide then tells you to go to the next electronic "page" before displaying a message that it is experiencing technical difficulties and will most likely have the data back on line by the fifty-eight billionth rotation of the red dwarf star that is currently on it it's first rotation. It will finish with that rotation in one Earth millennium.

A/n: Yes, I _am _leaving you all hanging on the edge of your seats wondering about this one! What will the vampire penguins mutate into? Will Ford remember to speak every few paragraphs? Will Zaphod remember not to expose the plot holes again? And where the hell were the meat tenderizers in this fic? Find out all of this and more on another exciting chapter of: **_The True Story!_**

Because I felt like it. That was just to keep you all from asking me why I wrote that like it was the end of an old "Speed Racer" adventure, or something.

Thank you all reviewers. But I still have one question for you: Would the one known as cat please tell me why my story made them feel dirty? Really, I need to know this if I'm _ever _going to have any luck with a girl! Umm… I didn't say that. I'm not desperate, honest! GAH! Oh, wait, I can't say "GAH!" it isn't a word… darn.


	4. Bwahaha!

Marvin looked around the _Heart of Gold_ and wondered where everyone was. He decided that they had all left him again to go get drunk, so he plugged himself into a wall outlet and drifted off to the equivalent of robot sleep by counting prime numbers from three up to infinity. Strictly for the purpose of his own fun.


	5. MJVP's

"Oh god!" Arthur yelled. This is going to be another one of those days, isn't it?"

"No it isn't," Ford said. "It's going to be quite different than one of those days. How many times have you been attacked by anything even similar to these?"

"Well, never, but-"

"But nothing. It's not another one of those days, because it is a very different day than usual."

"But it's still a bad day!" Arthur argued in vain.

"Umm, did you spell that right?" Zaphod asked, indicating the word "Vain" recently used.

"I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance of being correct," the author said. "Now stop picking at the grammatical errors."

"Whatever," Zaphod stated nonchalantly to examine the now blinking adversaries that faced himself, Ford, and Arthur.

They were roughly three feet tall, clothed in robes of a creamy brown shade, with microphones clipped near the collar of the robe; protruding from beneath the hoods pulled up over the faces were short orange beaks.

"What in the name of Bob are those?" Arthur asked.

"You called?" Bob the daemon in charge of kitten taxes said, popping into the cave quickly.

"No, no, I was referring to Bob from a planet that I was once trapped on- he was worshipped as a god. I was their chief sandwich maker, as matter of fact," Arthur stated proudly.

"Did this planet have sentient beings that ate perfectly normal beast?" Bob asked.

"You know, now that you mention it, they did."

"Ah. Then the Bob that they were referring to was me. Which brings us back to, you called?"

"Hold on, how are you their god?"

"Look, did you call or no?" Bob asked.

"No! I was just using an expression that was drilled into me. Now how the bloody hell were you their god?"

"Well, if you don't need me, I'll go back on my search for Fred."

"Who?" asked Zaphod.

"Fred. You remember, from chapter three?"

"Oh, right. Carry on."

"Excuse me," stated one of the short, robed figures. "But, um, do you mid if we, you know, tell the audience who we are now?"

Arthur looked down to one of the robed figures that had walked up to him and was now looking up into his face.

"Oh, yeah, sure, have fun with it. And Ford, say something before you throw up again."

"Oh, it's okay," Ford said. "I took a self help course. I won't puke again."

"When did you-"

"Heh-hem," The robed figures said, drawing attention back to themselves.

"Right, then. We are," the figures all dropped their cloaks in unison, revealing themselves to be penguins with long fangs protruding from their beaks. "The musical Jedi vampire penguins of imagination (Trade mark, restricted, copyright, patented)!"

"That's a mouthful," Ford stated pleasantly. "Can you give yourselves names? The author appreciates it when you do."

"Okay, umm, uh, I'll be , umm."

"Ooh! Ooh! I have an idea!" one of the penguins in the back piped up. "Why don't we all just call ourselves MJVP's one through… umm… How many of us are there again?" he performed a quick headcount. "Okay, one through two."

"Everyone agree?" MJVP 1 asked.

"I don't like it," Zaphod stated. He became small and lemon flavored again. "Fine, I like it." Zaphod became large and normal flavored again.

"So, what exactly is your point in this plot?" Arthur asked, a little bit confused. "So far you've done… Well, nothing but talk. If you're musical Jedi Vampire Penguins, shouldn't you do at least one of those things?"

"You know, you're right," stated MJVP 2. "Let's attack them."

"Indeed," MJVP 1 agreed, pulling his double bladed frying pan from within his robes. Twirling it expertly at the same time as singing "Strangers in the night" he approached the party before promptly falling through a hole that appeared in the ground. He then fell through a second hole in the ceiling, landing on his feet and still twirling the double bladed frying pan.

"Well that was pointless," stated Zaphod.

"I agree," stated MJVP 1, igniting his light-meat-tenderizer-saber-sword. "Let's get to the action."


End file.
